My hands were shaking so hard I could barely align the key with the lock.

I heard the heavy door of the wine cellar creak open behind me.

The metal hinges groaned in the quiet room.

Footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, slow and deliberate.

I held my breath, pressing my back against the cold iron gate of the elevator.

“Maeve,” a voice called out.

It was not Marcus, and it was not the guard.

It was a voice that sounded like gravel grinding under a boot.

I squeezed the brass key tighter, the metal edges cutting into my palm.

The footsteps stopped at the end of the aisle.

The shadow of a man fell across the stone floor, illuminated by the dim red light from the corridor.

My phone, lying on the floor a few feet away where I had dropped it when I ran, suddenly lit up.

The screen cracked across the center, but the glow was bright enough to reveal the face of the man standing in the doorway.

It was Silas, the primary cleaner for the Salvi family.